


Daughter of Perdition

by robdrobot



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Angst, Blood and Gore, Character Death, Dark Hermione Granger, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Deal with a Devil, Demonic Possession, Demons, Evil Hermione Granger, Gen, Graphic Description, Horror, Magic, Murder, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Non-Linear Narrative, Tragedy, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:09:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29849607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robdrobot/pseuds/robdrobot
Summary: Little by little she will grow in the shadow, an illusion to the light. Until it will be too late to realize that she is not bright, but burning.A Hermione centric fic. DARK!Hermione AU
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	1. The Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Greeting to another Hermione-centric fic. This one wears the red dress of horror. There is no love in here, there never really is one when dealing with demons.
> 
> Disclaimer: Nothing is mine but the plot. All rights goes to JKR. Sorry for the unstable narration. I am depicting a story teller who is not quite right in the head. When I write, I imagine scenarios.
> 
> Notes:  
> Italized Speeches - Flashbacks or Past
> 
> Archive Warnings will apply at later chapters.

CHAPTER 1  
 **The Homecoming**

* * *

_"I don't understand. They said it was just a game, a hoax. It's just a stupid board!" A motherly voice wailed._

_"This… are you saying my daughter has been touched by this… this spirit?"_

_"Lorraine, what is_ leeching _on your daughter is not a spirit -"_

_"Father you said that stupid board made them communicate with a ghost!"_

_"-Not a ghost, nor spirit. That thing leeching off of her, is something_ **else.** **_"_ **

It only takes thirty seconds for a small flame to turn in to a full-blown life threatening fire. The report said a simple draft stretched the flames that burned down her house. The lingering stench of gas was just an aftermath.

_Click. Click. Click._

She imagines the knobs of the stove, _clockwise - counterclockwise._

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

Blue as the Divine Mother's gown. Blue whirl of fire, with edges translucent. Mesmerizing, beautiful. She likes blue she decides. Like little blue bells, with chimes of lullaby. It's song of death and pain.

Her hand doesn't burn with it, but it engulfs the counters and nearby cherry wood. She realize glass shatters, and concrete cracks. She also realize skin does not melt but burns. The smell not appealing.

She wonders if she's gone deaf, or her mother's screams are silent. She wonders too if burning fabric sticks to skin. She can't know, she has to be up close, because from where she stands everything is turning black.

_Black. Red. Blue._

Combination of colors as the house start closing in. She stands in the middle of it all. The frills of her blue night dress remains pristine. White ribbons littering on its edges. She thinks it's cute, girly, _innocent_.

She is a little child, bright hazel eyes round with innocence. He hair like a halo, tinges of copper bleeding on her brown locks, its variation like flames on a burning log.

Her feet remains bare, unscathed, despite the scorching dust circling her in her ring of safety.

Her hands laden with her little dolly, an uncanny replica of her. With the same porcelain skin glittering her, and blood red lips smiling slightly.

She is a pretty little marionette. Her strings not controlled by fate, but lack of faith. It feeds off of her, her innocence seduced by corruption. And her essence, of magic, morphed into malevolence.

This was not suppose to be the way. Somewhere along the way, the path of fate has been perverted. Diverted to passage unknown, somewhere light has not touched.

Little by little she will grow in the shadow, an illusion to the light.

Until it will be too late to realize that she is not bright.

_But burning._

_"Come on Hermione, let's play a fun game."_

_"A game?" A timid voice asked warily. They always made fun of her, her bookish ways. Reserved amongst the pages of her books. A little wallflower her mother teased._

_"Yes, my friend here has a new board game. Come now, it will be fun. Put that book down." her sitters eyes glittered with mischief, their voice commanding. Their request leaves no room for arguments._

_It must be a naughty game her parents won't want her to play. Would it be a sin to get caught?_

_"Come play with us Hermione."_

_̶"̶C̶o̶m̶e̶ ̶p̶l̶a̶y̶ ̶w̶i̶t̶h̶ ̶m̶e̶ ̶H̶e̶r̶m̶i̶o̶n̶e̶.̶"̶_

_"What kind of board game is it?" she whets her lips in_ _̶e̶x̶c̶i̶t̶e̶m̶e̶n̶t̶ worry._

_"it's a communication board, we'll talk to the unseen."_

There is a reason their kind avoid each other. They are both the anti-heroes for the sons of the Maker. Unnatural, abominations, _freaks!_ As they are both persecuted.

They are not enemies, but they don't consort with one another. The fallen angel is still ever living, and they abhor the company of a mortal. Even one with power. Even one with magic.

Nonetheless, a fallen summoned by the child of magic will either be destroyed or devoured.

She, however, was not left a wreck, but instead reborn. Awakened by anarchy. Their merging like a homecoming.

_I am finally one_.

_Ī̶̢͈̯̘̲̣͙̭͈̰͇̜̱̉͑̉̽͗̽̂̓̅̑̂ͅ ̴̩̟̤̦̻̣̑͘ͅą̷̧̢̳͙̮͇͉̱̮̙͖͈̟͚͌̈́̽ṃ̵̯͓̼͈̈́̏̓̓̒͊̽̓͒̅̋̍͜ ̵̡̩̖̼̜̪͚̉̂̉̑͒̂̋̾̂̔̒̏͘ḟ̵̢̛̙̮͎̜͇̬͖͉̗̖̪̙́̈́̈̄̏̀͛̐̈̚ͅͅĩ̴̛̩̹̠̎̽̽̅̆̿̈́̓̈́̃̃͛͘͜ͅn̸̦͒̐a̵̢̻̥͚͙̘͎̤̣̯̯̠͚͉̮͌̇̐̚l̴̢̧̛̛̟̖̹̗̘͇̮̪̠̙̱̱͂́́l̴̢̢̫̫̯͓͖̿͂͂̅̀̌̌̉͛̇̚͝y̵̢̻̱̥̮̻͍̤͔͙̙̹̪̗̮̽̾̅͛̃̽̎̋̕̕ ̷̢̧͖̞̖̀͊͛̉̚ͅò̸̻͖͓͙̱͗͋̊̅͝n̸̨̟̫̪̩͕̣̮̭̠̙̰̪͉͗͝e̶̡͙̟̟̭̩̍͒̏̋̑͗͑͂͝.̵̨̱̬̺͇̰̹̰̖͗̓͗̔͒̒̂̇̊̂̋͜͜_

_"Sammy! Sammy! What are you doing to Sammy! Stop it FREAK!"_

_"Quod immundi purificarentur" (The unclean should be purified) her little hollow voice echoed in the room._

_"Shut up freak! Stop this!"_

_"Lorraine the children are here! Oh Lord… Lorraine call an ambulance!"_

_"Mr. Arnold, she did it! She's doing it!"_

Did you know that skin pores is also an orifice. It is just inexplicable how blood could come out from somewhere that shouldn't. It also should not come out of her ears, nor eyes and nose. But she also leaks red, her bottom scruffy jeans tainted with blood, as if her menses dripping down to her ankles pooling around her.

The small floral pattern on her blouse once a blooming sun flower, now bleeding like rose.

She is like a dish sponge, red comes out off her in bubbles. _She_ ( _Hermione_ ) thinks she's drowning, in her own blood.

Blood in vast amount looks almost black she thinks.

" _Lorraine the ambulance!"_

_"She's bleeding! I don't know where… I?"_

_"Lorraine!"_

_"I'm sorry.. Uhm.. 11 Heathgate St. Hampstead Garden, just after corner of Meadway. Hurry, please send ambulance, my daughter's sitter is hurt… she's bleeding."_

_"Where? I'm not sure, I think everywhere."_

_I thought I saw the devil this morning, looking into the mirror._

Blood is a stain very hard to clean. Especially on wood floors. It is impossible on carpets.

" _Something is not right with her Lorraine."_

_"How can you say that Arnold? She's our daughter."_

_"Is she?"_

Parents always forget to close the door when arguing. And the foot of the stairs is a comfy niche for snooping.

" _The Vicar will help us."_

They think that the chains on her bed, the man on the cross and even their tongues praying Latin would relieve her.

Their efforts will be for naught, for they are one now. Nothing can separate them anymore.

" _Deliver us from evil. Surrender yourself and liberate the innocent. You who is corrupter of that is pure."_

 _"Release her!"_ Their prayers but a tickle, even as they shower her in holy tears. It does not work. Because there is nothing to release, she is one. She is home.

H̴̠̪̠̓̉̈́̉͊̊͒̋̀͐̚͜͝ͅǫ̷͕͉͍͙̰̬́́̐͐̋̊͘n̴͙̖͗͌̎̏̃̂̾̓̋e̴͍̫͌͊ŷ̶̡̩̠̜͓̲͉͓͓̈̾͌͊̃̌̀͐̉̕̚ ̴̛̰̖̭̟͓͑̌̐̆͐͊̚͜͝ͅĪ̸͇͙̼̣͇̰̱͕͍̱̾͆̑̃̽̐̊̀̎͑͋'̷̢̥̱̖̖͍̭͙̤̪͖̲͆͒͂͛̍͆́̈́̕m̸̗̐͆̉͆͒̆̽̀͗͝͝ ̵̢̀̓͗̿̽̆̀̎̓͊̓̃͛̀̕h̸̖͈͎̘͙̤̳̦̎͐͜ó̸̢̢̳̩̻̲̙͍̹̰̝͈͇̯͜͝ḿ̵̢̡̺̖̭̯ḙ̸̱̹͉̘̓́̋̇̈́̐̀͘͠!̵̡̛̙͚̖̯̫͈̪̽̃̌̈́̆̅̓͛̌̕

" _You are laughable Father. Tell me do you like me on these chains? Like the raw and supple brides you take?"_ She hears her laughter, wicked and good. Cackling like fire that singes the tips of your soul. Her parents cringe in fright.

The Vicar falters a little but he is not deterred.

" _Sancte Michael,_

_defende nos in proelio_

_ut non pereamus_

_in tremendo iudicio."_

_"You have to hold her down Arnold!"_

_"Daddy, he's hurting me daddy. Don't let him hurt me daddy."_ Her eyes suddenly clear and her voice young once more. However her skin remains slick and pale, her dark veins a stark contrast to her sickly pallor.

 _"I'm sorry baby, this is for your own good."_ It is not normal for a body to bend so sharply, not even on a young one. Perhaps once she turns eleven they will be enlightened, that shattering windows, her body hovering on her bed, blast of wind on a steady and calm night, are all just accidental castings. Driven by emotion, by fear and rage. Unfortunately, the opportunity will never come.

But never has she felt more control in her own body when magic springs from her very soul. That even the tips of her hair sparkle with unbidden power.

" _Veni in auxilium hominum,_

_quos Deus creavit inexterminabiles,_

_et ad imaginem similitudinis suae fecit,_

_et a tyrannide diaboli emit pretio magno_."

She grows more annoyed now and the charade of innocence breaks. The pulse of energy sends them all to the walls. Literally. She hears a crack somewhere, and she thinks it's a very beautiful sound. She relish in their pain, their moanings and agony, all a sweet calling.

Like a symphony to her soul.

" _En antiquus inimicus et homicida vehementer erectus est._

_Transfiguratus in angelum lucis,_

_cum tota malignorum spirituum caterva late circuit et invadit terram,_

-"

Scream more, make it louder! Pitch so high it rings in her ear. Her mother's cry deafening but welcomed. The Vicars skin was easy to peel.

" _Father Ignatius! Arnold help me get him out! ARNOLD!"_

_"Ye.. yes of course Father. Lorainne open the door! OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR LORRAINE!"_

_"I CAN'T!"_

_"It's "le grand Lustucru" who's crying."_

The chaos suddenly stills. Her angelic voice humming her mother's favorite lullaby.

_"He's hungry and will eat"_

Her hazel eyes stares into her mother's unblinking ones.

_"Raw and alive, without bread or butter,"_

The tone so serene, yet it neither calms nor appease the last standing priest. The occupants feels shiver down to their bones, a chill making the ends of their hair stand up like there's static.

_"All the little kids…"_

Her dad tries to approach her, but the Father's sudden grip was tight and solid.

_"All the little kids, who aren't asleep."_

The apparatuses for praying suddenly afloat. Slowly rising, kissing the ceiling. There is a sudden chill in the room, as if a warning to a tidal of chaos that will be unleashed upon. The calm before the storm. Their heartbeats are erratic, and all of them are sure that there is more sweat clinging onto their clothes now.

" _All the little kids, who aren't sleeping…"_

Even the bed defies gravity, the wooden chair suddenly swaying mid air. Her night table light as a feather, the only lamp in the room flickering like shining stars in the night sky.

The outside world lost all its sound. No crickets trilling, the trees still as a painting, not even the clouds are breathing. Everything is on arrest, even the single fire on the dying candle has frozen. As if time is at a stand still.

She smiles, her pearlescent white teeth glimmering in the darkened room.

_"Ḻ̶̢̙̦̲͈̙͈͖̙̮̞̘̝͛̌͗͜e̴͍̪͔̪͖̗͕͈͉̯͗̍͂̀̈́͆̄̓̀̌̚͝͝ ̸͖̜͚̀͂̈́̾́̔̔̊͐͛̚͠g̴̛̱͑̄͋̂͌͛̕͠ŗ̵̫͕̱̺̯͉̭̭̉̈́̏̒͊̑̌̿̈́͋́͆́̔̚ä̵̛̮̜̖̱͈̳̤̝͌͂̆̓̀͋͛́̐͂́̀͜ǹ̴̢̛̩͕͇̪̻̥̣͖̍͒͗̀̑̏̾̋̚̚͠d̶̼̯̮̪̳́̈́͌̂͐͑́͑͘̚͘ ̴̢̢̯́́̉̂̑̿̽̈́͝L̷̙̉̀͂͋̀̍͆̈́̾̇ͅũ̴̯͍̝̤͎̩̮ͅs̷̟̈́̌̄̃̑̂͂͋̈́̀͛̚͝͠ţ̴̨̫͔̙̼̟̻͙͍̳̈́̐̂̀̏̾ų̶̡̱͓͚͚̹̦͉͈̔̋͋͂̿̎͘͠͝c̵̞̳͕̩̰̦̱̞͓̩̱̔͐͂̿̄̆̕ȓ̷̛͎̫̬̜͕̟̰͕̙͒̈́̒̀̓͒͊̍̕͘͝͝ŭ̶̠̼̲͔̳͔̣̯͚̙̂͌̾̂̌̔̿̈́͊ ̴̧̡͙̯͖̫̙̭̠̰̗̹͔̉͐̄̏̃͊̓̚͜w̴̙̥͙̱̗͉̫̼̠̩̯̮̯̘̏̒̒͆͒̔̈͊̋̓̚̚͝ḭ̷̢̡̲͈͖̘̖͎̜̹͎̍̽̄̔̒͝l̵̻̩̣̖͕̮̼͚̭͎̝̑̃̈́ḽ̶͑̈́́͂͛̿͝ ̶̡̢̬͇̺̪̲͖͉̰̯̩̭̥̭̓̅é̸̢̮̱͔̄͌̕͘͘͝a̵̡̻̯̳͊͂͗̂͒̀̊͘͜t̵̛͔̾̋̈̽͋̆̃̏̃̈̑!̸̧̠̝̱̭̱͚͇͈̖́͒̇"_ Her warped voice sang.

The tiny flame on the melting blessed candle burst upwards. Like a hungry predator ready to devour all its prey. Its target anything that can burn. It burned everything.

"hmm…" Her shackles fell on the floor, her tiny feet sway to the side of the bed. Everything is burning, but her.

She grabs Daisy, she decides she's her favorite among them all. The porcelain doll is safe from destruction.

Her room once pink, burning to shades of browns and red. It is beautiful. Her fire a dance of blues and oranges. Her life is a rainbow, she paints with her magic.

She is different, she understands. She is _other_.

Fire is her first magic. But it won't be her last.

They tried to get to her, but even the men in their heavy bunker gear, burns. Their protective equipment charred by her fire. And her fire leaves not only destruction but fumes for suffocation.

In the end it is death that she sees. Bodies of men topple at her feet. She smells their sweat, she smells meat, she tastes their tears, and lavish on their pain. The all burning environment intoxicates her.

It is a holy mess, and she loves it.

That beautiful night, she painted the sky red. For she is _Abbadon_ her calling is to destroy. That night she is the archangel of abyss.

When she crawled out from the falling ruins, away from the debris. The sun is almost shining, and she greets it like an old friend. Because like her the sun is not just bright, but it is burning.

" _Over here! There's a survivor!"_

Be careful sons of Adam, you don't know who you are saving.

" _Don't worry sweet little girl, come here we'll protect you. We'll get you to safety."_

_"Oh poor thing. What is your name sweetheart?"_

_̶"̶T̶o̶d̶a̶y̶ ̶I̶ ̶a̶m̶ ̶A̶b̶b̶a̶d̶o̶n̶.̶"̶_

_"My name's Hermione…"_

_"Is your family inside? Was there anyone else with you?"_

_"No… my family is not here anymore."_

_"Oh you poor child. Don't worry, we'll help you."_

For she shall be the image of innocence, even if she is rotten inside.

The institution looked clinical. It stench of bleach and stale bread. Still she doesn't move from the yellow monoblock, stained due to wear and tear. Yet she looks as if a princess on her throne. Her tiny feet now in lilac slippers dangles. She resembles her doll, eerily beautiful and very lifeless. The social worker assigned to her rush to find her remaining family. She is chilled, and the pit of her stomach is churning in anxious fear. The child has yet to cry, she just stare back at her own beady eyes. The lady feels naked, like a wriggling grub under the microscope. The child's stare was unyielding and she tries not to flinch.

At least the other children knows. They shy away from her.

Later she will think back, perhaps she should have given this assignment to another. But her throat was slit seamlessly at the dead of night and any more pondering comes to a halt. It was never safe to walk alone on the streets of London. You never know what monsters come lurking in the shadows.

So she rush the reunion, the child has an Aunt married to a dentist. This is better than nothing. She doesn't think she can last another minute under her gaze.

" _Hello Hermione. Remeber me? Auntie Jean?"_ They said it might be trauma, her unblinking stare should not be daunting but it still unnerves her - this time her Aunt.

" _This is my husband, Vince. We'd like for you to come live with us. Would that be okay with you?"_

 _"I suppose."_ She plays the perfect angel. Timid and shy. Like a little darling.

" _Hey little champ. Your Aunt told me you love books. Do you have a favorite?"_

 _"I like all books. They're all my favorites."_ Her little sweet smile is a charming response as her Aunt brush her face softly. The adults chuckle in amusement, as the little girl charm the room. She is as beautiful just like her mother, and has eyes that could mesmerize you. Lorraine was always the more beautiful between the sisters.

" _I think you'll like it there. We have a room there for you already, and we have a small library. You can spend as much time as you like there. And we'll set up your own shelf for you to fill. For more books in the future. That would be lovely isn't it?"_ Her hair bounced as she bobbed her head in elation. She will be a lovely addition to their family. A daughter they have always coveted.

" _Dr.s Granger, the papers have finally been registered. You can bring her home now."_ _̶T̶a̶k̶e̶ ̶h̶e̶r̶ ̶a̶w̶a̶y̶.̶ ̶I̶ ̶b̶e̶g̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶.̶_ The lady almost regrets her thoughts. Almost.

Sometimes sudden pressure on open wounds sloppily spatter blood. Even a meter apart it can sprinkle on you. The thief now a murderer runs away with some of the evidence. Perhaps she should not have been so loathsome to a child, it was after all her job. Then the thief would have remained a robin instead of a butcher.

_"Let's go home Hermione."_

Home. Is there such a thing but her own.

" _I'd really love that."_

Five years after the fire that left her in the doorsteps of her aunt and uncle, a new character introduced herself.

"Good day to you Mrs. Granger, my name is Professor Minerva McGonagall. I am here on behalf of an extraordinary institution that wish to enroll your very talented daughter - Hermione."

"Oh, yes. Please come in."

At her first step, the Professor faltered. If she were of the faithful she would have realized. If she were of the believer she would have seen. But those of magic are just as blind as Adam, and are easily corrupted like Eve. For their kind should never intertwine, because she holds the forbidden apple. In her hands lays seduction, ripe for the taking. They will mistake her for their Messiah. And it will be their doom.

It will be too late for them to realize, that she is not bright. But burning.

"Oh Hermione! There you are! Come, come. There's a professor here who wants to meet you."

Measured steps come a closer. The devil likes to to fool, that day she is the deceiver. She radiates innocence. It helps her doe eyes are beguiling. Her smiles are sweet enticements, like a cherry sugar quill. Too sweet, too red, too mesmerizing. You will moan with pleasure as the first stroke of your tongue, the treat is a delight. Like the apple you are captivated, seduced. And just like Eden, you will bite, with complete relish. You forgot the arms has scales, and she but a snake. Her fangs will cut you deep. But you are to entranced to be swayed. You do not see a demon, but a child. You only see the wrapper with which the gift comes.

Unfortunately, she will not be the first victim. But one of the many.

"Hello Professor." She has teeth as white as pearls.

And all she could do was smile in return.


	2. The Messenger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have realized my mistake in the previous chapter. Hermione's biological parents are not the Grangers. Their family name will remain unknown because it is irrelevant to the story. So no, she is not related to someone magical. She is still very much muggleborn here. 
> 
> Text Notes:  
> S̶t̶r̶i̶k̶e̶t̶h̶r̶o̶u̶g̶h̶ words are speeches or lines of Hermione - the devil. In conversation setting, this "voice" cannot be heard. It's only in the mind of whoever she's talking to.
> 
> Italics range from, character's thoughts, spells, and narrator's soliloquy.
> 
> WARNING: Implied Non-graphic death and murder for this chapter.

Chapter 2

**The Messenger**

* * *

“Vince, a professor wants to meet our Hermione!” Jean called for her husband. “Would you like tea Professor? I’ve just purchased the spiced ones from the Tea House. It’s apparently the rave these days. ”

“I haven’t tried, but whatever you recommend must be good.” The professor said.

“All right then. Give me a moment.” Jean said as she ushered the group to the nearby study.

The house was not like where she grew up in. This was a bit on the modern side. The garden at the front is just a patch of well-trimmed perennial grass. There were no boxes of flowers or crawling bushes like in her old home. The house itself was three storey up, with white painted bricks and black shutters. It spoke wealth, but not the ostentatious kind. Inside you will be surprised by towering books, a contrast to the defined look of the exterior. It shows the house is for scholars, people who value education and knowledge.

She sat just across the marbled hearth. Her legs crossed and tilted to the side. Her hands are folded over on top of her lap. Everything about her is prim, and Minerva couldn’t help but approve.

_Be careful, for even the loveliest rose has more thorns._

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch your name Professor?” Vince asked. Settling down on the black chesterfield. He looked like a scholar, he had grey loafers that match his pants and his shirt was crisp. Everything in this house is ironed out, and Hermione was the most immaculate.

Funny though no matter how pristine everything is. Flies are attracted to this place.

“I’m Professor Minerva McGonagall. I hope I’m not too forward, but you don’t seem quite surprised I am here Mr. Granger.”

“Please call me Vince. Oh thank you darling…” Vince was cut off as he helped his wife serve tea. She always wanted to impress when entertaining and was not surprised to find the fine china laid out.

Hermione remained silent, still as a doll on the plush settee. The professor felt like she’s being watched, like as if a hawk has settled on the crystal chandelier, there was a presence she can’t quite put. The tea helps settle her nerve, but only a little.

“You see professor, - ” Jean continued for Vince. “ – We’ve had many offers from varying institutions lately. Hermione here is a special child. Prodigious from her last assessment. We’re actually already on the debate whether if it’s St. Paul’s, Westminster or Goldon’s. And those are just our preliminary offers, I.. I’m sorry from what academy are you from again Professor.”

“Well, I did not say. I ought to first hand this to you.” She finally addressed the only child in the room. A red regal envelope was handed to her. Their fingertips touch and she swears she never felt skin so soft yet entirely cold.

“Is that parchment?” Vince asked, feeling incredulous.

“I’m sorry what school is _Hogwarts_ ” Jean said, looking at the aged professor warily. They never thought twice about her, but as if seeing her for the first time. The lady was dressed in some vintage era dress. There may be no lace but the fabric looks aged despite seeming being brand new. Her hair was coiffed as if to assist a hat, and her shoes peeking underneath her long cloak is made of hard leather. The professor sat rigid on the only tufted chair in the study, her china was held delicately on the professor’s fingers, and for a moment Jean thought the spoon whirled by itself. As if by magic.

But that is a preposterous thought.

“What sick joke is this _Professor?_ You come into our house, dressed as a hobo!-”

“Vince!!”

“-and you want us to believe this, _this,_ mockery!” He made to grab the offending envelope from his sweet little girl’s hands and threw it back at the table.

_She swears there is another in the room, the only one smiling at her._

Parents are always offended, this she was not surprised at. A bit on the rude side, nothing she can’t handle. There are far worse Purebloods than them.

“I am neither here to offend nor fool anyone Mr. Granger. I assure you, what is written there is true. Your daughter is not only gifted intellectually, but she has magic. Hence a witch.”

_“_ Please get out! Before I call the cops on you.” Gryffindors are stubborn and brave, however something else is creeping on her skin. She would love nothing more than to get out.

_~~“Wicked”~~ _ ~~~~

_Blink. It is just your imaginings. Whispers are not real._

“Vince calm yourself.”

“It would be no problem for me to leave. However, once I do, I shan’t return. Your daughter is gifted, much like all the other wizard and witches of her age. They are given the privilege to study magic in one of the best academy for the arts. If you decline her this, there will be another authority who would gladly bound her special gift and make you all forget I was ever here. Or she was ever that _gifted._ ”

“GET OUT!” He started to stand and bound towards the lady. However, his wife’s grip stopped him.

“Professor. We don’t understand this. Say we believe you. That there is such an academy. What of our Hermione? How is she connected to this. There is no such thing as magic.”

“Was there ever any occurrence of the inexplicable, sudden burst of energy, a book flying, lights flickering? Well the previous house I visited, their son turned his hair blue. Not even growing it out changed it back until I did a counter charm. Or perhaps, missing objects, even sometimes breaking of glass, in rare instance fire.”

“Fire?” She asked weakly.

“Yes, these are called accidental magic. Influenced by immense emotions, anger, extreme joy, sadness, fear. In Hogwarts we will be able to teach your daughter to use her magic in a controlled environment. For example, _Lapifors.”_ In an impressive speed, she brandished a wooden stick out of from thin air, and the the once red letter turned into a fluffy white rabbit. Her form of humor, since street magicians always conjure rabbits out of a hat.

But neither parents were amazed nor alarmed. They looked at her somberly. As if they have been in long denial.

_~~“Weak”~~ _ ~~~~

_Calm yourself, there is no one else around._

“And in this school, she will learn to control these? These accidental tricks?”

“Magic is not trickery Mrs. Granger.” Sadly, it just made the mother paler. Jean felt so faint. Minerva returned the rabbit back to the envelope. It would do no good for it to hop onto the fire, she was a good messenger after all.

“How uncontrolled are we talking about here Professor? Can her magic hurt others?” _Has she hurt others?_

“There are instances where her magic can harm others, and in some cases even herself. But I have yet to witness a child purposely causing harm, and if one ever does it is only to defend themselves. However, it will not escalate to something that can expose our kind. We have a form of government that tracks down large concentration of magic. Therefore any accidental magic can be prevented or at least mended.”

~~“~~ _~~Fool”~~ _ ~~~~

“If you choose not to send her to Hogwarts, then I’m afraid that very government - our Ministry, will bind her magic. She will almost be a muggle.”

“A what?”

“Now you’re just speaking gibberish.”

_~~“Woman lover”~~ _ ~~~~

_Tea, yes the tea. It can calm you down. What did the mother say this was, spiced tea was it?_

“A muggle is a person who has no magical descendant and has no magic themselves. Your daughter however is a muggle born. A special witch born from those who are not magic.”

“Is that even possible. Could it be because Hermione is not…” Jean stopped as if choked. She is hers, she is theirs. No one else’s.

“I’d like to go.” Her small voice so transcendent, whimsical. Enticing.

“Hermione, sweetheart. I cannot allow you to go to these clown of a school.”

“I will go Vince.”

“Of… of course sweetheart.” Stuttering, now who sounds like a fool.

_~~“Woman deceiver”~~ _ ~~~~

_No it was an accident! She was not suppose to be there! She was not suppose to expose them! Their secret was sweet!_

_~~“Woman murderer”~~ _ ~~~~

_Yours are the sweetest skin I’ve ever seen. I’ll never see. The forbidden forest hide many things. Our love is one of them. Let it remain in there._

“Anything you want sweetheart.”

“That settles it then. I will be back in a week’s time, to escort you for your things. The school will provide for her basic necessities, her textbooks, a set of uniform, and potions equipment. However, we will not discourage you if you wish to buy her things beyond the basic requirements. What our school can afford currently, if I say so myself, may not be that adequate. But enough.”

“Oh yes, yes. There is no room for worry, money is not an issue.”

“Very well. It was nice meeting you Hermione.” _Her kiss was still soft, however turning cold. Chilling like the touch of her hand. Which should be impossible, she was dead and this child is not._

_Leave, leave, leave. It’s not yet too late. Don’t mind their unseeing eyes, don’t mind the flies._

_Just smile. For she is smiling back._

If she has once prayed. She would have been saved. Alas, she did not see. It should have troubled her, she once smelled that before. The stench of old rose on a rotting corpse.

Because no matter how pristine this white house is, flies always come here.

Perhaps, she should send another to escort the child. She thinks she’ll be busy that day, visiting a hollow hole. The one that carved her heart out once.

For nothing is truly forbidden in the forest. Not their love. Not her soft skin. Not the carving knife that hollowed out her heart.

As she removes her glasses, and set it on the nearby table. A moment of realization pass through Minerva. Her tea before she left has gone cold, what only felt like minutes, she didn't realize lasted hours. 

What were they even talking about, the meeting has run smoothly. _Only too smoothly._ Perhaps, she just lost track of time. It was unlike her to visit one house that day.

Nonetheless, she will resume tomorrow. She rather felt tired. Maybe it's because of all that digging.

...


	3. The List

Chapter 3

**The List**

* * *

“Of course you’ll first be purchasing the basic requirements, in your list you have 1st grade textbooks, your uniform - I suggest get one for winter and a summer set, you’re cauldron should at least be basic A grade and your equipment must have incorporated dragon hide lining. I suggest full covered gloves, non of those finger-less tips the girls are raving on these days. They’re very useless actually, the Potion’s Professor is a right vermin anyway you wouldn’t want to piss him off with useless garments . You’ll also need your writing materials, and you can even get a familiar if you fancy one.” Cordelia said as her heels click-clack around the hard wood floors.

“A familiar?”

“Yes, somewhat like a pet Mrs. Granger. Like Sekhmet here, my lovely little viper.”

“Is that poisonous? I…”

_Jean was it worth the trouble._

“I’m sorry who are you again?”

They both have dirty blonde hair yet the girl is clearly brunette. None of them even have curls, yet hers bounce healthily. A little bit too healthy, it looks as if it has a life of its own.

The lady commandeered their halls like a panther on a mission. She was exuberant on each step, her stockings with veins of roses looked as if blooming on their black lace. Perhaps they are, she’s magic too apparently. Her hair is neatly coiffed, and her three piece tweed suit screams aristocracy.

“Forgive me Mrs. Granger. Let me introduce myself. I am Cordelia Leigh, and I will be assisting your daughter to get her school materials for Hogwarts.” Jean shook her lace gloved hands. She reminds her of Lorraine. Dark brown locks of varying shades. Posture exquisitely austere. She loathe women like her, she decides.

“I don’t understand. The professor said she will escort us today.”

“You feel faint Jean.”

“I… I do?”

_She always had it good, didn’t she Jean._

_The loving husband, the beauty, the intelligence, all that grace._

_She was always mother’s favorite._

“Yes, you do. Much like the Professor. She has fallen ill, headache she said. We wouldn’t want her getting more ill now, not with the school year up ahead. I filled in for her, no need to worry Mrs. Granger. Both of us are good to go.”

“Oh.. Is that so? Of course. Vince…” She called. She does feel under the weather. Have been feeling under the weather lately.

“Vince, Hermione here is about to leave.”

_But you found Vince. He was no_ _James Dean_ _but he has a title. He gave you a house. He gave you prestige._

_La, la, la-la, la-da._

“We won’t waste anymore of your time. The papers have been processed a week ago, she will be good in my care for now.”

“I do not understand?”

“Of course you don’t Jean. There is nothing for you to understand. Be good like Vincent, sleep on the couch Jean. You are feeling faint remember?”

_When you thought you finally had it all._

_La, la, la-la, la-da._

“I am… I do feel quite peaky.”

_Until s_ _he bore the one thing you can never have._

_You will never have._

_Her._

“When will you bring her back then Mrs. Leigh.”

“Oh no, no, no. I’m just a Miss. No ring on my finger Missy. I don’t need no Vince to see my worth.”

_Look Jean, I named her after you. Come, meet Hermione Jean._

_This is what I was suppose to have._

_Her._

“Oh. I was like you once too. I relished being untied. But Vince is the love of my life, and he gave me my little angel. What time did you say she will be back?”

_I see my little angel now, she is mine, and was never yours._

_You stupid bitch who burned._

_“_ I didn’t say. Because she won’t be coming back. You’ve handed guardianship over to me. Remember?”

“What…” When did she start feeling ill.

“Get out! This is my daughter you’re talking about! Get out!” Was the room spinning. She couldn’t say. When did she sit down? Vince?

“ _Hisss…”_

“Ooohh. Lady please don’t be rude. You’re upsetting my dear darling Sekhmet here. You wouldn’t want to piss her off do you?”

_Her._

_Hermione._

_My baby._

“Jean. Not to worry. She was never for you to have. Unlike you _I_ will be better for her.”

“No...” _No. No. No._

_“_ Jean, be a good girl like Vince. It’s time for you to sleep already.” _~~Eternally~~_

“Oh no, no, no. Don’t drink that tea dear.” She swayed her wand to get rid of the tea, the blue pigmented teacup crashed against the wall. Hermione’s hand stilled mid-air, the tea Jean served now splashed violently all over the floor. The bronze liquid was trickling the wall like dark streaks of blood. Jean found it grotesque.

“You wouldn’t want to drink that anyway, we don’t know how long it’s been in the cupboard.” Cordelia grinned wickedly at her small smile. Hermione has yet to speak, she barely does, but her smile is a good answer as any.

“Now. Are we ready to check your list? We must be prepared for Hogwarts.”

“Now, wait just a minute…” Jean protested weakly. Her voice has gone raspier, as if something was blocking her airway.

“Of course. I’m excited to pick up the first on my list!” Little Hermione exclaimed, finally bouncing with energy. A shocking scene, she was not one to get bubbly. Nothing really excites her the way a normal child should.

Cordelia knelt before the girl, their heights now almost at eye level. She brush her way in the most gentle of ways, her eyes glimmering in awe.

“Anything for you m̸̧̧͔͖̤̝̞͖̅̿̐͋̒͗͐͛̅̋̀̚̚i̷̛̱̓̏̋̃͛̅̌s̶̹̙̦͙͊̆̈́͌̅͛̅̇͆͝ť̴̨͖̠̱̜̦̟̙͚̹̈́́̊r̷͖̫͍͉̆͋̿̍̆͛̊̒̊̑͑͜ę̸̛̻̝͙̝͎̍̍̀͛͝͝s̶̢̛̛̞͇̬̠͙̣̆͆͛̎̉s̵̢̲̣̺͎̼͎͔͙̹̦̝̯̯͌́͊͒̅͐”

“No… wait… Her…”

_Was it all worth it Jean?_

The two, dressed in matching blue ensemble, without ceremony _Apparated_ out of the house in a resounding crack.

The once lovely home starts dilapidating, the neatly mowed grass suddenly had an overgrowth, the windows now tainted with murky water marks, her once polished floors has been left in dust. The ceiling had questionable stains, her leather furnishings turned brittle and into dull brown with tears at its seams. The walls were littered with cobwebs. And Vince still has yet to move.

She has been feeling ill for quite some time now. Must be the flies that infested the area.

If she were outside she would have seen, her fence are now decorated in yellow strips of tape.

She does feel really tired now. Perhaps a little nap is due.

Sadly, when she closed her eyes, and drifted to a deep slumber, she never opened them again.

That morning the newspaper boy did his morning gig. A paper landed by the old house’s porch, as the ticking sound of the bicycle’s gear can be heard in the background.

Breaking News. 1991, July 25th. Two found dead, one still missing.


	4. The Saviour

CHAPTER 4

**The Saviour**

* * *

What have you been told as a babe?

That your father and mother were nothing but trouble?

That you, their own sprog will end up the same?

Perhaps.

Shall I give you a reason to be the same? Because when I look at you, boy you are anything but trouble.

“Harry?” Sweet angelic voice that has come to be my saviour. Are you the one I have been waiting for?

“They’ve gone now Harry. My friend here made sure they leave you alone. I won’t let you go back in there.”

She was smaller than him, it was just as easy for her to crawl under the hole. It was just as much as his kingdom as well as his refuge. In there, there was no pain. No hands that deal with punishment. No cries of whales seeking sadistic entertainment. No men in uniform who suddenly go deaf from his cries and had turned a blind eye on their bloodied hands.

In his cave, he could be a hero.

In his cave, he realize heroes need saving too.

The ray of sunlight softly seeps thru gaps of intertwined roots. It was more a tree house than a burrow, however he preferred the damp hole. Underneath he could slither further into the shadows. Because up above there are none.

At least this way he wouldn’t fall.

“You like the cold, don’t you Harry?” _Would you accept my warm hand still?_

Her safe hands, caressing his wounded face. He was like every animal in the land willing to follow the maiden’s voice.

With her, he is safe. With her, he feels love.

_For the evil has the most excellent trick. She will lure you with her tantalizing seduction, until you drown in deceitful love._

You will think _love_ blooms like a rose’s red, until you get closer to see that it is not just red, but blood.

“I’m so scared Hermione.” _You should be._

“It’s alright Harry, I am here now.” _And I’ll never leave._

“Come out now children. The world’s a waiting. We should not dawdle in squalor.” The lady cooed. He looked like a drowned rat compared to them.

“Besides, Sekhmet here doesn’t want the cold. You wouldn’t want to upset your gift now, do you Harry?”

“It’s mine?”

“She, harry. Your viper is a girl.” Hermione cooed.

  
Was there ever a choice for children who has none? Where else would he go.

“But what about those who calls themselves my ward.”

“Come out of there Harry, find out with me.”

The sun’s ray was warm, and his skin welcomes it with delight.

_They say her heat was deceiving. They will warn him that he is burning._

_But a child who has yet to feel warm, has naught to compare to. When does one say they are already burning. When should one deny that they derive pleasure from it._

Perhaps he should have been scared. All his life he denied he was trouble. Until trouble never tasted this good.

Revenge, as he realize, is his own retribution. And no matter how thick once hide is, a viper’s fangs can penetrate it.

Dudley was always portly, but poisoned blood makes one more inflated. Swollen to the point of popping. Even his eyes bulged out red, and his brains mixed with blood looks gooey pink.

Should he have been disgusted? Slightly. But curiosity was his game, and trivia’s on blood and bodily fluids is an enlightening material.

Maybe one day he could use this source as he studies medicine.

Harry surmise, it is good to be surrounded by women. Not his Aunt though, she was a good harpy boney enough to be swallowed whole. People whose thinner has faster chance of burning. And those who put on the avoirdupois like nobody’s business, well their heart and lungs are already concealed with fat. Who’s to say it was not heart attack, right? It was easy to say his tiny lungs was constricted by all that fudge, he could barely breathe in a room full of smoke.

_In her wake she leaves body, but not cold, not bright either, but burning._

In a few days when his date of birth comes, a celebration is held in an English garden. He places a crown of flowers on her curly top head and they let the day pass in peaceful silence, imagining clouds of bunnies hopping in a hurdle. When he blows his candle to make a wish, he was instead grateful.

His saviour has come in the form of a friend. He would always be thankful that day his Aunt took Dudley to the dentist. Not only did he get a free cleaning, he also got the best thing that ever happened in his life.

No amount of darkness under the stairs could dull how bright she burned for him.

Today he get to be a kid, among the meadows, where a snake has given him the sweetest apple. One he does not regret biting at all.

On that same day, a large burly man discovers. The package he once left, abandoned chaos. The house was no more, it’s resident presumed dead. And no one, not a single neighbor, can remember if a boy with bright green eyes was among them. For everyone knew, the Dursleys only had one son. They did say, however, that their dog was no where to be found. The dog that keeps barking at the dead of night. Everyone was just relieve they are gone.

Harry will not speak of it to anyone, but he prefers to hiss than to bark.

Sekhmet agrees, and he let the viper lull them to sleep as it coils around their messy hair, as the two fall asleep under a tree.

He was out of his hole now, and there was no way he will return to that. For once you feel the burning, there was no turning back.


End file.
